Demon Child
by poplarleaves
Summary: Never to sleep, never to feel pain, and yet he is always in pain. Gaara's story.
1. Bloody Birth

What am I doing here?

What is that?

It's my hand, isn't it.

I'm moving it.

There's no light. How can I see if there isn't?

Where am I?

This place is dark. I don't feel cold, but—

I wonder how I got here.

Where's the entrance?

There's my arm.

Am I alive?

What is this place?

There are a thousand eyes.

Wait.

This is wrong.

The eyes, they're looking at—no, through me.

They want to hurt me.

No, they want to use me. And I'll get hurt, but they won't care.

Someone's here.

Who's that?

There's something there.

Another hand? Another one like me?

Wait. No. No. That is wrong. It's not natural.

Don't come closer!

Keep your distance. Don't hurt me. I can't stand it.

Stop!

It's getting closer.

I can see it clearly now. There's something wrong; something twisted.

Something mangled.

It's old. And tired, and weak. They've beaten it, the thousand eyes, and it's wounded.

It's a monster.

I shouldn't know this, I shouldn't have this awareness. I should be safe, but I'm not.

Not even in my mother's womb.

I shouldn't know. I shouldn't be seeing this.

They're urging it towards me, I can see it, they want it to come to me but I don't want—

Please stop! I don't want to get hurt.

Its claws—they're tearing me apart. This is pain. Is this what they want?

Stop it! You're killing me!

Something's wrong. The thousand eyes are dimmed. Am I not strong enough for them? They want me to fight back, but I can't.

Father! You are one of the thousand eyes.

The thousand eyes, fiery eyes, they see me. They want me to take the thing, take it into me.

I can see its frail body. It's survived for so long. It wants to have revenge, and I'm the closest thing to it.

Bloody eyes.

Let me out! It's my time!

Air, I need air, I don't have it, they want me to die.

The monster is here, right next to me, it grins and rips into my hand, the hand that is mine, my flesh, it wants to devour me and make itself whole.

Stop it. Stop. I don't like this. Father, you hate me, don't you? I'm not strong enough. You despise me. I can feel your stare from the thousand eyes, I can feel your hate.

Now the thing has my arm. I don't care anymore; I'll die and then there will be peace.

Please just let me die. Let me go so I can leave.

It hurts.

I can see its teeth, gleaming sharp teeth, it wants to take my mind. It continues up my arm, now the side of my face.

Father. Why is this happening? Why have you abandoned me to this monster? I want life, not death. I want to live. Stop this! Stop this right now! Let me out!

The thing howls as I fling it away. My blood is here, all around me, it's my mind's blood.

FATHER! LET ME OUT!

What is that? I can feel it.

Small grains, small pieces, but I know how they are all put together.

Sand.

Time is running out, but I can still fight.

I call the sand. Come to me, I say.

The sand is mindless, it follows like a dead thing, but it listens. Now I can feel the walls of my prison, I can feel the warm darkness that should have been safe before the thousand eyes took hold.

My sand, come closer. Close to me. Closer than a lover ever can be, close as my heart. Feel my prison, hate it, feel the weakness. Yes, there and there and there and there, feel it and hate it like I hate my father, know it as well as yourselves. Press against it, feel the softness of it, the places where it will give way. Cover it with yourselves, bind it until it cannot move.

And now.

Destroy.

* * *

"_Aaaaaaah_!"

Blood spattered the walls, voices shouted and madness became chaos. The baby was coming; the Sand nin had done something to it, and now it came, ripping its way out of its mother, the blood drenching it and streaming down its face as it screamed. And its scream was unnatural, guttural and hoarse and deeper than it should be for an infant; too late did some of them realize it, and they were caught in the swirling vortex of sand that suddenly spun and ripped and gouged with the fury of a storm. Soon everyone was gone, deserted, but for the screaming child that was soaked in blood that saw with the eyes of a demon.

Gaara was born.

* * *

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	2. Darkened Path

They shun me.

Every day, they shun me.

It's been seven years now since my birth, and still they shun me.

If I walk into the street, into the light, I'll see a mother turning her child away, a field of glares sent in my direction, a wave of hate. I can feel every stare keenly; I've long since grown used to it. Even animals seem to sense my abnormality, my handicap, my demonic power. Plants have no love for me; this desert makes it nearly impossible, and my care for them is far from adequate. And the sand that is my weapon, my only friend-- it is a dead thing. The world shuns me, one of its most twisted children.

There are things I shouldn't know that I know; there are things I must do that I must not. No one can call me an ordinary child, can they? Never allowed to sleep, never allowed to play. Sometimes I will love, but it is a one-sided love, full of hatred and regret and, above all, pain. No one and no thing ever loves me back. I've never felt physical pain; the experience is alien to me, but somehow I know that this emptiness inside myself, this dark hole in my existence, is pain. To think that a man would do this to his own flesh-and-blood child is repulsive... no, no words can describe the horror of it. But then, how would I know? I don't feel anything but pain - pain and anger - inside this void of myself. I don't even know if I feel hate for the one who did this to me.

Father, do you hate me?


End file.
